


Tell Me You Want It

by mercury6



Category: DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, Superman being stubborn, Underage Sex, Wally being stubborn, mentor issues, young justice characters mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 23:09:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11450991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercury6/pseuds/mercury6
Summary: Wally and Clark have a discussion about inappropriate relationships, stalkers, mentors, and spankings.





	Tell Me You Want It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [music-is-luv](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=music-is-luv).
  * Inspired by [Do You Like That, Baby?](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/305838) by music-is-luv. 



> This is my humble follow-up to 'Do You Like That, Baby?' and 'Do It Again' written by music-is-luv over at ff.net way back in 2011. Her depiction of Wally West is unlike anything I've ever read and it's killer. It takes the Wally West child abuse trope and kicks its ass in the best way possible. If you're not familiar with it, Wally becomes a "secret sexual deviant and super slut extraordinaire" to deal with his shitty family life. And he's a cutter, too. Serious kid hero with issues. In his never-ending quest to get it "harder, meaner and nastier", Wally decides to seduce Superman, only he didn't count on falling in love. music-is-luv kills it with the language and the humor as well as the heartbreak. I seriously suggest you read those first. I can't claim to even get close to what she achieved, but I really wanted to keep the ball rolling, so here you go. I hope she enjoys it, and you do, too.

Wally’s expecting his usual greeting of lips and tongue when he steps inside Clark’s apartment. It’s not something he’s used to, coming home to someone who is genuinely happy to see him, but he can’t imagine he’ll ever get sick of it. 

He’s about to drop his backpack and yell, “Honey! I’m home,” in his best Ricky impersonation when he’s shoved against the wall with an embarrassing “Oof!” 

Clark could probably knock him senseless with barely a wave of his hand. The gentle shove Wally gets isn’t enough to hurt, (though, being a Meta certainly helps) but he’s certainly not going anywhere. Not that he would ever want to. 

He’s no pushover, well except when it’s Super-gorgeous doing the pushing, so he has to at least pretend to be put off, just to get things rolling. Naturally, that calls for some teasing, sexy banter, because Kid Flash is without a doubt, the fastest mouth alive. Only the perfect, dirty come-on that’s on the tip of his tongue never makes it past his lips, held back by the massive hand pressed over half his face. 

Wally’s reflex is to swipe his tongue against the meaty palm of Clark’s hand, but he holds absolutely still when he notices Clark’s serious expression. Clark quickly motions for silence by pressing an index finger to his lips. 

Years of conditioning and muscle memory make Wally’s responses fluid and intuitive. If there’s any possibility of danger, Wally will wait for Big Blue’s signal. 

He can keep it in his pants when it’s necessary. He CAN!

The nanoseconds tick by waiting for a sign, but for a speedster it’s like freaking forever! Especially when Clark is sort of pressed up against him, all big and warm and smelling so nice like he always does. Another few seconds go by and still nothing. 

No explosions, no bad guys, no visible threat. So what gives? 

Anytime Wally finds himself forced to remain still his brain kicks into overdrive. Hey! Any respectable over-sexed fifteen-year-old making skin to skin contact with his boyfriend is going to get all kinds of whacked out ideas in a hurry, helped in no small part by the tease of rough play. Barry’s been helping with some techniques for calming his mind, but Wally has yet to master them. 

It needs to be said: Speedsters handle time differently, and not always constructively. I mean, one time he and Barry trolled every QuikTrip in the state of Missouri just to see if their QT Twisters tasted the same. Okay, so it was really just a lame excuse to eat a shit-ton of frozen sugary goodness, but hey, Speedsters, what can you do? 

When he can’t be in motion you can be sure his brain is. Some of his greatest fantasies have taken shape while sitting idle in class, waiting for the bell to ring. Most of them would land him in therapy for the foreseeable future, but the point is, in the time it takes Clark to make his move, Wally has already conjured up a half dozen boner-popping role-playing fantasies. 

His personal favorite is the one where he gets to be the bad guy. Relax. No one seriously evil or anything. Just something chill, like a sexy cat burglar, cuz skin tight black could so be his thing. Clark would be the unsuspecting homeowner who just happens to be totally jacked and smokin’ hot and likes administering kinky punishment on his burglar’s juicy punk ass. 

Say what? It’s stupid? No, it’s not. Shut the fuck up! Don’t judge his stupid porn fantasy!

Just because Wally hasn’t convinced Clark to really hurt him doesn’t mean he can’t get him to play some harmless bondage games. Just feeling the man pressed against him while being stared down makes him shake, already imagining it so perfectly in the literal blink of an eye; being thrown over Clark’s muscled lap with both wrists trapped in one of Clark’s massive hands, forced down, unable to move with his pants trapped around his ankles while his ass gets punished. He knows what those hands can do and the image is powerful enough that Wally could easily embarrass himself right now, only he really doesn’t feel like explaining away the spontaneous jizz fest in his jeans. 

Wally waits as patiently as a speedster is capable of as Clark finally, FINALLY reacts, reaching behind his neck. He’s anticipating the big guy’s touch, but there’s only a quick, efficient sweep of fingertips along the inside of his collar before Clark is holding a tiny metal chip in front of his face. He stares at it for an indecipherable length of time, completely disconnected and unable to react. 

When Wally recognizes the complex network of micro circuitry, his whole body flushes hot and cold as comprehension settles in like a lead weight. He’s seen the technology in field missions often enough, courtesy of Wayne Tech and a certain crafty little bird who has a particular fondness for it when surveillance is part of the agenda. There’s no doubt in his mind where it came from.

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for the gravity of the situation to penetrate his thick skull, but when it does, it’s as good as a stinging bucket of ice water in his pants, banishing all hope for his role-playing fantasy and with it, his erection. 

Clark offers him a sympathetic look as he hesitantly withdraws his hand from Wally’s mouth, like he’s tempted to leave it there to stem the outburst that’s coming, but it barely registers. Wally snatches the chip from Clark’s fingers and grimaces, vibrating it in his fist until it smokes and disintegrates. 

Wally’s about to lay down a looooong mother-fucking rant about his supposed bestie, but Clark anticipates the tirade and shushes him once more, dropping to the floor on one knee. Wally watches the play of muscles in his lover’s back (yeah, Superdude is his, bitches!) as Clark lifts his left foot, swiftly prying a second microchip from his sneaker tread. 

How the hell was he unable to feel it all the way from Central City? An even better question would be how did Clark know as soon as he was inside the door? Does he just scan Wally head-to-toe with that freaky x-ray vision shit every time?

Clark does the honors with the second bug, crushing it in his fist, the end result compressed into something that resembles a tiny ball bearing. And as impressive as that should be, he can’t think much about it because he’s really fucking pissed. So yeah, he loses his shit a little.

“I’ve had it!” He yells, throwing his arms around for emphasis like some apeshit windmill. He probably looks ridiculous, but Wally doesn’t care. “This is bullshit! Fucking Robin has gone too far this time. He’s got no right to do this to me. This is not how friends treat one another! What is that kid’s fucking problem?”

Clark doesn’t even call him out for his cursing, just sighs and watches him with that same patently annoyingly (but endearing) look from earlier, which is hardly fair because Wally wants to be angry with him, too! I mean, doesn’t he realize Robin’s jerk wad stalking puts him just as much at risk? If the League ever got wind of their relationship it would be bad for Wally, but Superman would take the brunt of the fallout. 

It isn’t hard to imagine; the ugly allegations of abuse, the looks of disappointment, pity and disgust from all the heroes he looks up to. Even worse, it would put distance between him and his Uncle Barry where none had been before. And if damaging the single most important male relationship in his life wasn’t enough to make Wally cringe, imagining the Flash’s reaction does the trick every time. 

Learning your nephew is banging a founding member of the Justice League would probably make for some awkward workplace conversation at the very least. At the worst, Flash might speed-drag Superman through Death Valley by his balls. The guy’s bulletproof, but a man’s balls are sacred. 

As happy as Clark makes Wally, the thought of confronting his uncle about his lifestyle choices makes him feel like a frightened little kid. Disappointing the man who’s done everything to support him makes Wally feel like the piece of shit his mother always claimed he was. 

Ultimately, he knows the League would contain the scandal to protect the rest of its members. Except Wally really doesn’t want to go down as the kid who turned Superman, a.k.a. the Big Blue Boy Scout into a pervert. 

Well, in private he’s kinda high-fived himself for making that happen, but it’s not something he’s ready to own to the world at large. When Wally thinks about it like that, he feels sort of shitty about it. 

In the end, Clark would take all the blame onto himself and that’s just not fair. Wally initiated nearly every advance, every dirty come-on he could think of to seduce Big Blue. As far as he’s concerned, this is all on him. 

Wally may only be fifteen, but he’s been sexually active for the last two years and making adult decisions for himself ever since. Mixing chemicals and lightning would be a good example. Okay, maybe not his smartest idea ever, but it turned out alright. 

So he knows how serious it is for Clark to get involved with him, that the consequences could wreck their lives if the truth ever got out and yet, he did it anyway. Yeah, Wally knows that makes him a selfish prick, but he wanted someone to choose him, just once. So, he guesses that makes him sappy and girly and a million other things he swore he’d never be, but now that he’s had a taste of what real honest affection between two people is like, he’ll die before he’ll ever give that up willingly. He can only hope that he makes it worthwhile for Clark. 

But that doesn’t mean he’s not worried or downright afraid of the shit hitting the fan, especially now that Robin is on his case. Wally knows only too well how determined that kid can be. He’s like a goddamned pit bull; once he gets his jaws locked onto something, there’s nothing short of a bullet to the head that will get him to let go. 

Wally doesn’t care if his reputation is shot, even if the team throws him out on his ass, which is a very real possibility. Wally’s screwing around puts the whole hero mentor program at risk. Losing his place on the team will hurt, real bad, too, more than he cares to think about, but as long as Wally has his super speed, he’ll use his powers to help other people and that’s always been what it’s about for him. Kid Flash is a badass. He’ll figure something out. 

But a little voice tells him that Barry and Iris won’t look at him the same way anymore. And it’ll be hard for them to forgive Wally for keeping something like this from them. They won’t understand, and Wally can’t really explain it to them without talking about his shitty home life, something he’s just never going to do. So, they’ll be hurt, but in the end they’ll still love him. 

They will. He has to believe that. 

Wally knows he stands to lose a lot in this whole mess; his reputation, his team, Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris on some level and maybe even his best friend; the current cause behind all his anxiety.

Robin’s got absolutely no clue about Wally’s personal life. Wally’s always come across as a typical Midwestern kid from an average middle class home who’s also a slightly obnoxious, sex-crazed ladies’ man with an affection for bad Speedster puns. It’s an identity that’s allowed him to hide his depravity from everyone around him. Learning that his doofus friend has been taking it up the ass from a dude twice his age might not go over too well. Maybe it’ll disgust Robin the way he disgusts his mom. Imagining the cruel taunting of her voice sends a shudder racing up his spine. 

Shit. Wally knows he really needs to stop thinking that way, but he wonders if he’d have any friends left if any of them knew what he was really like; a fifteen-year-old boy-whore with self-esteem issues who cuts himself up and considers sexual partners based on how much pain they can inflict. Pretty fucking pathetic, if he does say so himself. 

He can’t change what he’s done. But at least he doesn’t feel like he has to hurt himself any more, not with Clark around making him feel so much better, physically and emotionally. And Wally wants to be better for him. He can handle the shitty thoughts. And he’s made it through worse. He’s fucking Kid Flash, bitches!

The only thing he knows he can’t hack, the one thing Wally knows he couldn’t live with himself over is hurting that big, sweet, Kryptonian muscle head. That would just about kill him.

Wally’s pulled out of his swirling thoughts when Clark wraps his big, meaty hands over his, easily dwarfing them and suppressing the nervous vibrating Wally wasn’t even aware of making. 

“Wally, we need to talk. C’mon, let’s get you something to eat.”

Wally snatches his hands away and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I don’t want to eat, Clark. I’m too mad to eat.” He knows he’s coming across like a brat kid, but he doesn’t fucking care. Clark definitely tries not to snort at Wally’s super-lame denial, but he can’t manage to not smirk. 

“Uh-huh.”

Well, he was getting sort of maudlin to be honest, but then he remembered Robin is the one putting his less-than-appropriate love affair in the crosshairs. His best friend could really fuck everything up for him.

“Seriously, Clark. I can’t eat when I’m like this.”

Wally knows that was definitely an eye roll, but he allows Clark to pull him into the kitchen to sit him down. He plants his ass in the chair and sulks, feeling like someone who is much younger than a sexy-fine teen Metahuman crime fighter while Clark rummages around the refrigerator.

Kid Flash and Robin haven’t spoken to each other since their shouting match at the mountain a few weeks ago. The rest of the team is wisely staying out of it for now, probably hoping the two of them will resolve it on their own. But at this rate, Wally figures it’s only a matter of time before Kaldur pulls him aside the next time he’s at the cave. Naturally, the Atlantean will assume Wally is the immature one who needs to make nice with Robin for the sake of the team. Like Robin isn’t capable of being as much of an immature asshole as he is! 

He respects the hell out of Kal, but he can’t force a fix between him and the Boy Wonder, no matter how noble his intentions. 

Kid Flash and Robin have never had a falling out like this before, but that hasn’t stopped Robin from going behind his back, snooping into his biz, and essentially flipping Wally off. This marks the third time Wally has caught surveillance tech planted on him by the little shithead, formerly known as his best friend. 

The first time it was on his backpack and he spotted it easily, almost too easily. It was like Robin wanted him to see it, like a freebie. 

The second time was tougher to spot, planted in the cupboard of his suit. And yeah, it wasn’t unusual for Robin to make sure Kid Flash kept his cupboards stocked for emergency missions, but to then use that trust to plant a tracking device? Really fucking low. Like, seriously? Fucking with Wally’s calories? That’s just all kinds of wrong. 

It’s a good thing he didn’t accidentally inhale the tracker when he went for his super protein bar. Although, now that he thinks about it, maybe that was Robin’s intention all along. Wally sure-as-shit knows Batman has the resources and ingenuity to engineer a bug for use inside the human body, but he doubts anything he could come up with would survive a speedster’s super-nova metabolism. Yeah, because speedsters rule! 

And besides, Uncle Barry would have mentioned testing something like that...Well, he’s pretty sure he would have. He would, wouldn’t he? Jeez, now he even sounds paranoid in his own head. 

Clark is pulling packages of deli meats from their plastic wrappings and piling them onto a plate on the kitchen counter. Wally pretends the sound of plates coming out of the cupboard isn’t anything like a Pavlovian dinner bell and looks away stubbornly when he catches Clark watching him. He doesn’t see Clark’s smile as he resumes his work. 

“Wally, Robin is just concerned about you.”

“He’s wrong! What he’s doing is wrong. End of story. I’m not arguing about this again.”

Clark shakes his head in disapproval but doesn’t say anything more. 

In some sort of effort to calm his shit, Wally turns his attention to the fraying ends of Clark’s tablecloth, feeling the tactile softness and wear that only comes from repeated use and washings, something obviously loved and cherished. Wally can pick out the places that bear Mrs. Kent’s touch in Clark’s apartment with ease now, the things that seem completely out of character for a bachelor reporter and secret superhero. 

The tablecloth under his hands, the blanket throw in the bedroom and the heirloom silver photo frames hanging in the hall. All of them have that subtle feminine impression and a strong sense of history that’s distantly alien to Wally. He has no basis for comparison is his own life, no possessions that signify the bonds of family, maternal or otherwise. Wally only has mass-marketed Flash memorabilia given to him by Barry; stuff like keychains, t-shirts and plushies, but those don’t really count. He doesn’t love them any less, but here amongst Clark’s cherished things Wally can’t help but feel he’s the thing that doesn’t belong. 

I mean, he can’t really imagine Mrs. Kent would approve of Wally using her soft blanket throw to avoid a nasty case of rug burn. ‘Clark, what did I tell you about those boy’s knees? Have some decency and defile your teenaged lover in a bed for crying out loud.’ 

Yeah. That’s probably never gonna get said.

Thinking about Clark’s mom and how she would react to Wally’s presence in her son’s life doesn’t make him feel too good. He’s a Midwestern boy himself so he knows traditional sort of folks wouldn’t understand someone Clark’s age with someone as young as Wally. Sure, he knows it’s a little weird, but it’s never bothered him. 

Well, unless you mean hot and bothered. Yeah, bitches, that’s more his speed. 

Wally’s fucked his way through a considerable portion of Central City’s hipster nightlife and until recently was damn proud of it. Being with Clark has sort-of forced him to re-think his promiscuous behavior, thoughts he’d been pushing away to his subconscious where the traitorous fuckers belonged. He can’t change the past, so what’s the use in dwelling on it? 

Clark isn’t anything like Wally. The guy doesn’t do casual sex. Maybe that’s because he came from a nice home where people loved him and Wally...didn’t. 

Lucky bastard has an amazing relationship with his folks. Wally knows because of the affectionate way Clark talks about them and the phone calls that Wally sometimes eavesdrops on. (C’mon, he’s naturally curious and a born scientist for crying out loud!) There’s even Mrs. Kent’s homemade shit. She sends boxes of cookies, pies, photos. It’s crazy. Clark calls them ‘care packages’. Like the guy’s not living in fucking Metropolis and can’t get anything imaginable within a few blocks anytime he wants. But it’s still really sweet. 

Clark’s parents are exceptionally nice people and Wally can’t imagine they’d approve of what’s going on between them. They must be so proud of their son. It’s not really fair of Wally to make a mess of Clark’s life, too. Clark is incredible and doesn’t deserve that, no matter what.

Wally knows he’s the fuck-up here. He’s the slut, the whore, the ugly little boy his mommy and daddy never wanted. He’s not the important one in this equation. Clark on the other hand is the mother-fucking Superman, so Metropolis, the League and the rest of the world pretty much depend on his help. Wally only wishes he’d given more thought to all the trouble he could cause Supergorgeous before feelings were involved. He couldn’t pull himself away now if he wanted to.

And why didn’t he think of any of these things when they would have been helpful? Because he was too busy thinking with his dick! That’s why!

Maybe he is just selfish. Maybe Robin isn’t the only one out of line here.

A large platter appears before Wally, startling him out of his emo-bitch-fest. It’s piled high with slices of deli meats and cheeses and long hoagie rolls, the smell of fresh-baked bread making his mouth water. Another plate joins the first with stacks of tomato slices, fluffy lettuce leaves and condiment jars. A gallon of milk and two glasses quickly follow and Wally looks up into Clark’s smiling face. That kind smile always does him in, like his own personal kryptonite.

“Go on, Wally. I know you’re hungry. Dig in.”

Wally considers being stubborn, but it’s pretty much a lost cause. Clark knows the sight of food alone is enough to ease his nerves, that nourishment equals instant comfort for a speedster and Clark’s obviously not above using that leverage to his advantage. Wally might even consider it devious if he weren’t so dick-whipped. But there’s no sense in being rude to Super-polite-pants, even if he is a pushover for a Dagwood-style sandwich. The least he can do is force himself to slow down and eat his food in real-time, like a normal person, like he’s demonstrating some impressive show of self-control. Ha! Uncle Barry would be the only one to who’d truly appreciate the effort. 

He knows Clark is watching him closely, a fact Wally is deliberately ignoring at the moment cuz he’s still super-pissed at fucking Robin and he’s really tired of discussing it with his boyfriend. It’s as if Robin doesn’t care about his feelings. Maybe their friendship was never as important to Robin as it was to Wally.

“I know you’re upset, Wally, but please, just hear me out.”

Of course Super-fantastic waits until his mouth is full to start in on him. Figures. He continues eating but meets Clark’s eyes. “Wally, Robin is very clever, but as predictable as his mentor sometimes.” Wally gulps down his mouthful, quickly chasing it with several swallows of cold milk. “What do ya mean?”

“It means earning Batman’s trust was not easy. And those two are very much alike.”

“So you’re saying Robin doesn’t trust me. I think that’s a given at this rate.” That admission hurts more than it should and it’s hard to look Clark in the eyes afterwards. 

“Wally,” Clark says, softly, his hand resting over his own, offering his own source of comfort, “I know you two are very close and that wouldn’t be possible if you hadn’t already established a strong foundation of trust between you both. But you must admit, your recent behavior has provoked Robin’s curiosity and concern.”

“My behavior?!” Wally shrieks, spraying a few crumbs across the table. Okay. So what? He’s to blame? This is HIS fault? 

Wally knows he’s been busy and distracted. Being a secret lover on top of a super teenaged sidekick is more work than he thought, so he guesses it’s obvious that something’s going on with him. But where does Robin get the idea he’s entitled to know his business? Robin doesn’t tell him jack shit! Not even something as simple as his goddamned name, but Wally’s supposed to be an open book. Fuck that shit!

“Robin is exceptionally observant, as I’m sure you already know. And it’s obvious he didn’t take it too well when you refused to be open with him.”

“Well, no shit!”

“Wally, language, please.” Clark is always trying to clean up his trash talk. Too bad it’s a lost cause. “I’m not saying that Robin is justified in his methods, but I know his motivations are well-intentioned.”

“He could hurt us, Clark!”

“Yes, he could, but he doesn’t know that, does he, Wally?”

“Well, it’s not like I can exactly tell him, can I?”

“Listen, when I first came to know Batman, I had to earn his trust, something we both know doesn’t come easily.” 

“You? Puh-leaze. You rescue kittens stuck in trees and help little old ladies cross the street. Even a hardass like Batman had to realize Superman was straight up dope, right?” 

“No,” Clark chuckles, “Not dope at all. In fact, Batman put me under surveillance for months at a time. He had me followed by drones, recording everything I did. I would routinely find trackers on my clothing after Justice League meetings. It was so frustrating.” 

“No shit.” Wally grabs his glass and chugs half of it, then swipes at his milkstache with the back of his hand, listening eagerly. 

“I found them inside my collar and in my boot treads a few times at least, that’s why I knew to check yours when you arrived. I confirmed it with a quick scan.”

“Oh, well, I guess that sounds familiar. Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“No, it really doesn’t. And just like you, every time I discovered some new form of subterfuge, I became angry and destroyed it. Batman’s lack of trust felt like a slap in the face. So instead of alleviating his concerns, I only succeeded in supplying him with more. It took me a while to realize that I needed to open myself up to Batman in order to earn his trust. The man is infuriating at times, but he is and always will be a guardian. And the truth is, I had nothing to hide from him. Once I allowed him to track my comings and goings he began to see that as well and eventually the surveillance stopped.”

Wally goes to reach for his sandwich, but notices the plate that was buried beneath a respectable portion of protein, carbohydrates and fat is now a sad scattering of crumbs. So much for his so-called self-control.

“I can do a lot of good in this world, Wally, but I can also do a lot of damage and Batman doesn’t leave anything to chance. He protects the people he cares about and that’s something I will always be grateful for.” 

Clark takes a few more bites of his sandwich and several large gulps from his glass. Wally is momentarily distracted by the movement of his Adam’s apple and the thick tendons working in his throat, suddenly remembering his favorite places to kiss and nuzzle. Wally shakes off the lingering memory of Clark’s skin under his lips. Mmmm. 

“Now, Robin is doing the same thing with you, only I’m pretty sure your friend doesn’t suspect you of being a global threat. He trusts you, Wally, with his life. He’s just concerned and doesn’t understand why his best friend is deliberately shutting him out.” 

He doesn’t want to admit it, but Clark’s got a point and hearing that Robin still trusts him in some way goes a long way to making him feel better. It doesn’t hurt that his blood sugar has stabilized either. He’s a grumpy ass when he’s hungry.

 

“Well, as nice as that is Clark, I just can’t let him follow me around until he figures out we’re fucking like bunnies. Unlike you, I actually do have something to hide. Going full Monty isn’t gonna work for me like it did for you and Batman.”

“No, you’re right, that’s certainly not an option.”

“So what do you suggest then?”

Clark absently motions to push the eyeglasses he’s currently not wearing up the bridge of his nose, a simple force of habit that’s so terribly human and just as endearing as the rest of the man. 

“I’m not entirely sure, Wally, but you’re going to need to reassure him somehow, because if you don’t, it’s just a matter of time before Batman decides to do a little investigating of his own and neither of us wants that.”

A beat of silence stretches between them, ripe with uncomfortable tension because Clark is right. Robin is one thing, but if the Greatest Detective starts taking a personal interest nosing in Wally’s shit, they’re as good as sunk. 

“Batman was questioning me the other day,” Clark says. The food suddenly feels heavy and uncomfortable in Wally’s stomach. “What...what did he say?” Wally asks timidly, afraid of the answer.

“He mentioned that my cheerful mood was more annoying than usual.” A knowing, sexy grin appears on Clark’s face and the relief washes over Wally.

“Oh. I guess that’s Bats’ slick way of suggesting you’re getting some.”

“Possibly.”

Wally should be worried, but knowing he’s the reason behind Clark’s ‘happy-cuz-I’ve been-getting-laid-on-a-regular-basis’ face makes him beam with pride. He’s responsible for that happiness and he won’t ever apologize for that. 

“Well, Robin has noticed me being more dopey than usual, too.” 

Clark’s fingers weave through his own on the table, gently infusing warmth into Wally’s skin that goes much deeper. When he looks up at Clark’s clear, blue eyes it makes his chest contract, and his heart fills near to bursting. He’ll never get tired of this feeling, no matter how whelming. It’s fucking humbling is what it is, to have someone you care about look at you like that. “It’s kind of hard to hide how happy I’ve been lately,” he admits, his grin so wide it almost hurts. 

“I know. Me, too, which is why we need to be careful, kiddo.” His grin slips a little then, hoping Clark doesn’t notice. 

Every once in a while Clark lets the ‘kiddo’ or ‘kid’ thing slip. On its own, it’s fine, but sometimes it sounds a little too much like Uncle Barry and the barest hint of wrongness twists his insides and lingers in his gut like a bad Chicken Whizzee. 

That bad feeling could just as easily be because of the subject he knows he needs to bring up between them; the one he’s been avoiding like the plague, but knows he can’t dodge any longer. Wally knows he’s about to ruin Clark’s good mood, but there’s nothing for it.

“Listen. Robin has tracked me to Metropolis more than once and he’s been asking why I’ve been spending so much time here. I’ve stalled and played stupid up ‘til now, but I’m running out of time. He’s gonna start demanding answers, especially if I keep smoking his surveillance. The thing is, I think I can give him a plausible reason, but you’re not gonna like it.”

Boy is Superdelicious not going to like it, which is officially the mother-fucking understatement of the year. Time to put up or shut up. He forces himself to look Clark in the eyes so he can’t misinterpret anything.

“Let me tell Robin I’ve been coming to see you to convince you to mentor Conner.”

Clark’s expression is blank, like someone bitch-smacked the emotion right off his face. It would be kind of funny if they were talking about anything else.

“No, Wally, absolutely not.” Yeah, that’s pretty much the response he was expecting. 

“Okay. That’s no, as in don’t tell Robin that’s why I’ve been coming to see you or no, you’re not going to mentor Con?”

“No to both.”

“Aww, c’mon, Clark,” he says throwing his arms up in exasperation, “It makes the most sense and Conner’s a good guy. Give the poor bastard a chance.”

“We’ve discussed this before and you know how I feel about it.”

Clark’s statement stops him cold. His mind locks up over that one, single word, ‘it’. His heart stutters helplessly, feeling like a stone skimming out of control over the surface of the water just before it sinks. “Don’t call him an IT!”

Wally’s shout registered enough decibels to make the neighbors cringe while Clark’s face pales in surprise, his eyes going comically wide. Hearing Clark refer to Conner as an ‘it’ or a thing instead of dignifying him as a person is just a hook for Wally’s own personal issues. He’s doesn’t mean to project his mother’s voice into his current situation, but he can’t help hearing her telling him what a piece of shit he is, that he’s useless, that he doesn’t matter, dredging up dozens of conversations between his parents where he was belligerently referred to as an ‘it’, if they bothered to refer to him at all. But freaking out, especially in front of his boyfriend is not gonna help matters. 

There’s no doubt he lost his shit back there because he’s standing over Clark with his fists clenched at his sides and heart pounding away inside his chest. For fuck’s sake, he wasn’t even aware he even moved from his chair. What the hell is wrong with him?

“Wally, I didn’t mean...I didn’t mean to refer to Conner as an ‘it’...I just meant the matter of mentoring Conner.”

Clark’s reply is soft and entreating after Wally’s not-so-subtle freak-out. The man looks ashamed because Wally knows he’s referred to Conner as a thing before and it got under his skin like nothing else. But he still hates making the guy feel bad. God, he really is an idiot.

“Oh, well...I’m sorry.” Wally’s words grate out like someone’s taken a cheese grater to his throat. “Didn’t mean to yell.” 

Clark politely grabs Wally’s chair from the floor and sets it back on its feet for him. He takes Wally’s hands as he sits back down and the anxiety starts to leave him, ebbing away slowly. Wally thinks touching Clark is even more soothing than food, which is pretty fuckin’ huge coming from him. It’s like the best drug ever. 

The man just smiles at Wally and soothes his thumbs over the skin of his palm and wrist, repeated touches meant to calm him. He shouldn’t need this kind of coddling for his own stupid misunderstanding. He closes his eyes and exhales before returning his gaze to his partner. 

“Listen, I know you feel violated by the whole thing, Clark, and I get that, but Conner is innocent. And I know he seems like he’s an adult, but he’s a toddler in Earth years. He didn’t ask for any of this. He’s been exploited, too! Could ya just cut the kid some slack, please?”

“Wally…” he begins, looking so sweet and patient it fucking hurts. “Considering how this all came about it’s very likely that Conner was created for the sole purpose of destroying me. For me to become attached to that boy is not only cruel to him, but to me also. We haven’t had enough of an opportunity to learn more about the Genomorphs exposure or their motives. Don’t you see? I can’t afford to get attached to him. Not if I have to be the one to put him down one day.”

“That’s fucking horrible, Clark!” Wally tries to jerk his hands from Clark’s, but the man has a solid hold on him and all Wally can do is stare at the his stoic expression and the steel in his blue eyes. “Yes, it is horrible, Wally, but it’s also a very real possibility, one that I have to be prepared to deal with. It’s fine for Batman and Black Canary to lecture me about being a mentor to that boy, but it won’t be them having to end his life. It’ll be me. And I’ve known this from the day I laid eyes on him.”

Gee. Downer much? The bitch is Wally can’t really fault Clark for his logic. He’s right, unfortunately. Still, it’s not gonna change his mind any. “Okay. Okay. I’ve heard you out, now can you please listen to me?” He sounds a little desperate, but he really needs to change the direction of this conversation. Hearing Clark talk about ending Conner’s life, even hypothetically, is really freaking the hell out of him.

“Wally, I think I’ve said all there is to say about this.” 

He begins to stand from his chair and Wally knows he’s serious, that they’ve come to the ‘subject closed for further discussion’ part of the conversation. Well, Wally isn’t having any of that bullshit. He grabs the larger man’s wrist to keep him there and gets an exasperated look for his trouble. The idea that he could force Clark to do anything is laughable, but he’ll at least get the message.

“So, let me get this straight. When I don’t want to talk about something, you sit me down, ply me with food, which by the way is manipulative and unfair because you know I can’t hold out worth a damn once I smell it, and then we discuss it anyway. Sure, okay, but when I’ve got a point to make it’s all, ‘talk to the hand, bitch.’ Uh-huh. I see how it is.” 

And that was a definite eye-roll right there, but Wally doesn’t miss the subtle flash of guilt across the man’s face. Sexy, sassy bastard and so freakin’ adorable Wally can barely stand it.

“Alright, Wally. Say your piece. Fair is fair. I’m listening.” 

He relents, sitting back down facing Wally. He can pick out the scent of Clark’s skin now that the food’s out of the way, and there’s nothing he’d like more than to crawl into his favorite lap and just breathe him in. But what he needs to say is more important and he needs to get it right. Can’t really do that with his senses full of the other man and all his blood rushing south to his dick. 

See. Keeping it in his pants when it counts. Self-control is his bitch!

“Conner’s a great kid. He works hard and he’d do anything for anyone on his team and he’s amazing, but he’s still a grumpy-ass piece of work because he doesn’t have the approval of the one person he needs most.” 

His baby looks ready to interject because of course that dig was directed at him, but Wally raises his hand to put a stop to that shit cold. Wally knows deep down he’s drawing from his own personal experience and if that means it can help Conner, so be it. Clark can just hear him out, even if he is a sexy piece of jailbait, he’s going to speak his mind and Clark’s gonna fucking listen. 

“Conner doesn’t give a rat’s ass what your reasons are, Clark. No teenager worth his salt does. All he knows is that knows is that he feels shitty and unwanted and he really hasn’t done anything to deserve it.” 

“You’re missing out on an amazing person, and hurting him in the process. If you can’t get to know him, at least throw the guy a bone now and then. Tell him he’s doing a good job, that you’re proud of him. Whether you like it or not, Conner’s a part of your world and he’s here to stay.”

“Wally, I know how much this means to you…”

“No, you don’t. But that doesn’t matter. Don’t you see? He could be as powerful as you one day and if that happens, do you really want your super-powered clone walking around with a chip on his shoulder that’s got your name written on it? I mean, wouldn’t it be better to make him your ally and your friend instead? Because if you’re right and you do have to fight him later on, I wouldn’t be giving the guy more reasons to punch you in the face. I’d be giving him a fuck-ton of reasons not to, you know? Cuz you’re kind of being a dick, like a super-dick.”

Clark’s mouth is drawn into a tight, thin line, but Wally can tell he’s not blowing him off. Clark is at least hearing him out. He’s fucking listening.

“That’s not who you are. Just...think about what it felt like when you were his age, Clark. Figuring out your powers all alone. What was that like?”

“I...It was...difficult.” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his perfect nose, taking his time to answer. “There was no one who could understand what I was experiencing. My powers overwhelmed all my senses. I thought I would go mad with the overstimulation, hearing so many voices at once.” Clark closes his eyes and runs the pads of his fingers along his mom’s tablecloth, seeming deep in thought. Wally waits for him to continue, content to just watch the beauty in his expressive features, his affection for the man growing with every passing moment. “There was so much sensory input I had to learn how to process in order to think and reason normally. But I was fortunate. My parents helped me cope with all of it.” 

Clark looks up and regards him keenly. “And I know what you’re going to say, Wally. Conner may not have parents, but he has a team of other Metahumans that can help him assimilate. And the League is prepared to help him whenever he needs it. He’s not on his own.”

“Yeah, okay, all of that is true, but none of them are you! Not one of them understands what being a Kryptonian means. That’s something no one else can offer him. I mean, I don’t know what I’d do without Barry. Becoming a Metahuman was scary in the beginning. I mean, figuring out the kinks to a speedster’s metabolism so you can keep from starving yourself in a matter of days or learning how to control your speed so you don’t outpace regular people and get made? Barry did that for me. When I got hurt and I was terrified, Barry was at my side keeping me calm when my bones didn’t knit together right. Barry understood and helped me navigate that crazy shit when no one else could. Who else could relate to that?”

“Barry is a great mentor and you’re very lucky to have him,” Clark says. Wally ducks his head and murmurs, “Yeah, too bad the reverse isn’t true.”

His heart is thudding against his breastbone so loud it’s embarrassing. Clark releases one of his hands to nudge Wally’s chin up to face him. “Wally, why would you say such a thing? You shouldn’t talk like that.”

“Why not? It is, it’s true.” Wally doesn’t give his boyfriend the opportunity to say anything to contradict him. “Oh, you don’t think so? Let me tell you something. Barry never wanted a sidekick, Clark. He didn’t want that responsibility. I did that, I put that on him. The moment I went through with that experiment, I took that choice away! When I blew myself up I certainly didn’t give a shit about what Barry wanted. No, it was either become a Meta or die trying. What kind of a person does that, Clark? What the fuck does that make me?”

Clark’s expression is so damned concerned it’s almost nauseating. “Wally, you were a kid when you performed that experiment.” Clark is trying to soothe him again, but Wally doesn’t want to be placated. He pulls away from the man and looks him in the eyes. “Yeah, I was a kid, and it was only a couple of years ago. Feel better now?”

“No, not really.” 

Clark looks as if someone slapped him, and Wally instantly regrets hurting him with the reminder of how young he truly is. He doesn’t know why he’s prodding that particular wound. It’s stupid and self-destructive, but it’s a compelling feeling; not to hurt Clark, but to ultimately hurt himself. He doesn’t need a box cutter to do the job when he’s got his big mouth to do the work for him. He’s just not used to shielding other people from the emotional fallout. 

“I didn’t deserve Barry’s help, but the thing is, he’s too good of a person to walk away, not when someone needed him. That man owned my shit. And if I had died, that man would have blamed himself. I would have hurt the person I cared about most because I’m a selfish prick.”

“Wally, you didn’t fully understand the consequences at that age. You were still too young to.”

“No. You know what? That’s bullshit. I just didn’t care. Barry forgave me anyway and he’s still here. God knows I don’t deserve him. I roped Barry into being a mentor and now I’m doing exactly the same thing to you with Conner. I haven’t learned anything at all.” Wally takes a firm hold of his own hands to keep them from trembling, alarmed at the intensity of his own emotions and how clueless he can be at times. 

He’s not completely ignorant of his own inner machinations. The idea to get Clark to mentor Conner isn’t just about having a reasonable cover story for Robin. He’s drawn the parallels between himself and Conner and he understands why it’s so important for him to get Clark to become a relevant figure in his life; wanting his friend to have a sense of belonging that he finds so lacking in his own. It’s definitely not fair to ask that of Clark, but if he doesn’t at least try, then he’s not really being a good friend to Conner. As with so many instances in his life, he’s fucked no matter what he chooses. 

“Tell me something, Wally.”

“What?”

“Why did you want to become a speedster?”

“Oh, you know. The usual reasons. Sex, drugs and rock and roll, babe.”

“Wally.” Clark sighs heavily in resignation. “Oh, fine. You know why I did. Because I loved the Flash and I loved Barry and I wanted to help him help people. I wanted to make a difference in people’s lives.”

“Those don’t sound like selfish reasons to me.”

“Yeah, well, it was selfish to Barry.”

“Maybe you didn’t think it all through when you recreated your mentor’s experiment, but I know you did it for the right reasons; to help people.”

“What’s that saying? The road to hell is paved with good intentions?”

“Where did you even hear that? You know what, never mind.”

“Hey, for all you know I did it for the fame and fortune.”

“Uh-huh, right. And just where is this vast fortune you’ve amassed?”

Yeah, he definitely needs to work on that fortune part. Or maybe just some decent spending money for food. “It’s a work in progress, don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, man!”

“You are beautiful, Wally.” Clark’s whole face changes as he says those words, so it’s impossible for Wally to deny he’s being anything except genuine. It shouldn’t be so hard to hear Clark say nice things about him. You’d think he’d be soaking it up like some kind of needy sponge, but he can’t. It hurts too much. All he can do is swallow past that hard lump of emotion, look away and shake his head because that’s as much as he’s able to manage. 

“Wally, you are many things, but a selfish prick will never be one of them.” Wally looks up in surprise and Clark grins back at him. “I want you to see yourself the way I do. I know you use your speed and your sense of humor to keep others from seeing how heavily your actions weigh on you. And I know you wouldn’t ask me to develop some kind of relationship with Conner simply to divert attention away from our relationship. It’s important to you because you care deeply and you should know I don’t think you’re selfish for asking this of me. You’re a good person and a good friend and I love you dearly for it.”

Wally closes his eyes, his breath catching on the intake. “You can’t just say shit like that to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what to do with it,” he whispers. 

“Then I’ll help you figure it out.” 

God, he’s so fucking sweet it’s breaking his heart. He wipes at the moisture in his eyes, doing his best to hide it and failing miserably. Clark’s nice enough not to draw more attention to his tears. 

“You said you don’t think I’m selfish to ask you to help Conner.”

“Of course I don’t.”

“And you know that it’s important to me.”

“I think there’s more you’re not telling me as to why, but yes, I realize it’s important to you.”

“Then you’ll do it?” He asks in a small, hopeful voice.

“Wally, I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Listen, Clark, I know I’m asking a lot and you risk getting hurt, and yeah, that sucks. I never want to see you hurt, and on top of everything it makes me a hypocrite, but this is really important and not just because of me.”

“Alright, Wally, but I need you to understand something first. You can sit there and think you dragged Barry into becoming your mentor kicking and screaming, but I know for a fact he loves every chance he gets to work with Kid Flash and wouldn’t change a thing. You didn’t drag him down, Wally, you gave him an ally, someone who is uniquely adapted to his special ability.”

“I could say the same thing about you and Conner you know, if you would just try to work with him.”

“You and Barry are a completely different situation, Wally. It’s not the same.”

“You tryin’ to convince me or someone else?”

“Are you done yet?”

“Nope. I just wanna say, being a teenager is a shit deal for any kid, Clark. Being an unwanted genetically mutated teen hero with super issues, that’s a lot worse. Trust me, because I would know. Just like, give it a shot and if it doesn’t work, then walk away. At least you can say you tried, but don’t keep ignoring him like he doesn’t exist, man. It’s fuckin’ harsh.”

“You are utterly relentless.”

“Comes with the fast metabolism.”

“If you say so.”

“I got an idea, Superdelicious. Why don’t we skip to the part where you agree with me, then we fuck our brains out on your kitchen floor. Sound like a good plan?”

The sound of Clark growling low in his throat could be irritation or arousal and the potential for either sends a little jolt straight to Wally’s belly. 

“Will anything I say dissuade you from this idea?”

“No chance, sweet thing.”

Clark seems to be studying the tile grout, like all the answers to their collective problems are just under their feet. “C’mon, Clark. He’s my friend.” There’s a deep sigh before Clark meets his eyes. 

“I’ll do what I can. I’ll try. But no promises.” 

There’s a second or two before he happily jumps into Clark’s lap, throwing his arms around the bigger man’s neck and grinding down on reflex. 

“Yessss! It’ll be awesome, I swear! Con’s gonna be so psyched!”

Clark’s arms are already wrapped around his middle, large hands making warm trails up his back. “I’m not so sure about that, but I hope you’re right.”

“You know it! Two birds with one stone, babe! We get Robin to make nice so we can keep playing house and Conner gets his Super-duper mentor. I’m amazing!” Clark actually chuckles and it’s so adorable. All the tension finally evaporates from the room. “Well, you certainly are convincing when you want to be. But amazing’s taking it a bit too far, though, don’t you think?”

“You lie. You know I’m amazing. And you’re not too bad yourself. Just remember you gotta be for real when you’re talking to Conner, cuz let me tell ya, those teenagers can smell bullshit a mile away.”

His waist is wrapped by Clark’s long arms and Wally’s dick is starting to take notice of his comfy, new position. This is what he’s been waiting for all day. He leans down to get things started with a nice, wet kiss that’s long overdue, but the sudden appearance of Clark’s giant hand on his chest keeps him from his goal. Huh?

“Wally, if I’m going to establish some kind of...relationship...with Conner, then you have to settle things between you and Robin.” 

Did he mention his super boyfriend is also a super buzzkill? “I will. I promise.” Wally pushes back, determined to get a taste of Clark’s juicy bottom lip, but the hand doesn’t budge an inch. He whines, “C’mon, babe, I’m chafing here.”

“You are just patronizing me so you can get a kiss.” Clark sing-songs, a devious little smile playing out on his lips. Fucking cock-tease.

“No, I’m patronizing you so we can get busy and then you can fuck me stupid.”

“Wally.” 

Cue the serious face. Clark’s wearing that expression, all intense and shit, the one that makes it almost impossible for Wally to hold out against. It’s nearly as bad as Uncle Barry’s ‘I’m disappointed with you face’ except…

...Oh, fuck, no! Do not think about Uncle Barry now. Ergh!

No, dial it back and focus on better things, like the feel of his dick snug against his boyfriend’s, separated by two layers of cotton denim, soon to end up rumpled piles on the floor if Wally has his way. 

It’s official. Clark is his Kryptonite. Kaldur might not be able to strong-arm Wally into smoothing things over with Robin, but Clark can get him to do anything, literally anything he wanted. The guy doesn’t even know it yet.

And yeah, Clark can twist him like taffy, but the truth is, Wally really wants his bestie back. He misses his lame texts, the cackle he makes when he’s kicking Wally’s ass over Call of Duty or when he’s putting down some piece of shit perp on patrol. And yeah, if he’s really being honest, Wally sort of misses having Robin call him out on his shit, too. What can he say? He loves the little dude, even if he is a creepy stalker like his Bat-dad. 

“I’ll fix it, Clark, but I’m not just gonna roll over like a good boy. He blew me off like it was nothing.”

“I know, but give him a chance to explain himself. Friendships like the one you have with Robin are always worth it. Letting disagreements fester in our line of work is never a good idea, not with the risks we take every day. You know this.”

Wally dips his head and answers softly, “Yeah, I know.” Clark’s hand has wandered from his chest up to his face, grazing his jaw and slipping into the short buzz of hair at the nape of his neck. If he was a cat, he’d be purring. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” he offers.

“That’s good, Wally.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna fuck me now?”

Clark sighs, (he seriously does that a lot around Wally) but he can tell the exasperation is more for show than anything else. “Is there not a single romantic bone in your body?”

“Sure thing, babe. It’s in my pants. Let me introduce you.”

Wally presses down shamelessly and rotates his pelvis, earning him a deep-throated groan. Deep-throating, yeah! Now there’s an idea how to spend the rest of the afternoon. 

“You’re terrible, Wally.” 

In spite of his words, Clark’s voice is thick with fondness and arousal. And that’s not the only thing thick with arousal if you get my drift! 

His boyfriend may be a romantic, and there’s no doubt he’s the better man of the two, all polite and sweet and thoughtful and shit, but that’s exactly why Clark needs someone who’s a little bit nasty, someone he can be himself with. 

Clark’s breath is warm and sweet-smelling against his skin as their faces meet, foreheads pressed close together. Wally figures that’s his signal to get a nice grind going, initiating the rhythm of the push and pull between them, bodies held tightly as they push Clark’s kitchen chair to its limits.

“You’re right. I am terrible. Maybe you should do something about that. You know, make sure I behave like a good boy.”

“Yes. Maybe I should.” Clark’s husky whisper is a warm rasp of air against the shell of Wally’s ear that elicits a full-body response. Toe-curling chills erupt over his skin making his head feel light. His stomach clenches pleasurably, anticipation rushing south to the jerking movement of his cock. Everything feels good. So good in fact, that it makes him blurt out his thoughts from earlier.

“I had this fantasy when you threw me against the door and had your hand over my mouth.”

Clark stills against him and Wally’s worried he may have said the wrong thing. Way to ruin the mood, dumbass. 

“Tell me,” Clark says, more of a command than a request that makes him shudder. 

“You’ll think it’s stupid,” he answers, suddenly feeling insecure. Wally never used to be when it came to anything concerning sex. Clark’s affection has made him raw and exposed, open in a way he’s never experienced before with anyone else. It excites him and frightens him like nothing else. 

Clark cradles his chin in his hand, holding it so he can’t turn away. “Tell me, Wally.” He closes his eyes and figures, fuck it. He’ll give Clark anything he asks for. “I thought, I mean I was imagining you doing a little roleplaying with me. You know...the one where the home intruder is surprised by the homeowner and gets some kinky punishment as his reward. It’s super lame.”

God, he can literally feel the blush of shame blossoming over his neck and up over his face in a rush of heat. He waits for several seconds for a response, feeling his boyfriend’s fingers dipping into the waistband of his jeans, just skimming there, debating, and it’s the only thing keeping him from taking off at Mach 2 in embarrassment.

“I see. May I ask what ‘kinky punishment’ entails?”

He speaks softly. “A spanking, I guess.” 

Hearing it out loud makes him feel like a complete weirdo. Expressing his wants used to be so easy when he didn’t care about feelings. He never cared what the others had thought of him. 

“A spanking. Nothing more...violent?”

He lowers his eyes. “Nah, it’s not really like that.” Well, not that he’s gonna admit it to the Boy Scout. 

“I see. Is that something you’ve ever done before?”

What Clark’s really asking is has he ever gotten spanked by his other sexual partners, but he’s being deliberately careful not to word his question that way. Maybe Clark doesn’t really want to know. It doesn’t matter. Wally’s never asked anyone else to spank him before. He’d always been after the bite of restraint and pain so severe it could obliterate everything that came before it. Spankings from his other partners could never satisfy that deep need. 

“No, not really.”

“Well then, I suppose...we could try it. If you want.”

‘If he wants?’ Well, there it is again, that embarrassing disconnect that speedsters should never ever suffer from. Maybe that concussion from his last mission did some lasting brain damage only Clark just said…“Are you serious?” 

Clark pauses to consider. “Yes, I think so. Well, I’d rather skip the roleplaying if you don’t mind. It feels a little...silly.”

Wally can’t help it, he laughs in spite of the look Clark is giving him. “Pft! Says the guy who wears his underwear over his tights.” Judging from his sourpuss, his boyfriend obviously has no desire to rehash their previous discussion of whose uniform sucked more. Cuz it’s Clark’s and he knows it.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want, Clark. We’ll just be ourselves. That’s cool.”

“Alright, but remember, I meant what I said before, Wally. I’ll never truly hurt you.”

“Okay, yeah, sure...but a little pain when I sit down?”

“I suppose I’m guilty of that already.”

So, that means…Motherfuckeringholyhell! He’s going to get this! He’s really going to get it...

...Superman is going to give him a spanking! 

“Holy shit!” Whoops. Said that out loud. And now Clark is wearing kind of a weird expression.

“Language, Wally. Although...I suppose you deserve to be reprimanded for that.” 

Clark used the deep voice, the commanding one that makes his balls twitch and little Wally stand up and pay attention. The glare he’s getting is really smokin’ hot, too, like nuclear meltdown hot. Did it somehow get warmer suddenly?

“I think we should move this to the bedroom.”

Wally never gets to reply because he’s thrown over Clark’s shoulder in a fireman’s carry with Clark’s arm pressed possessively over his ass. He groans out an, “Oh, my God,” and it’s all he can do not to come in his pants right there in the kitchen. 

Inside he’s put down gently and Clark takes a seat at the end of his bed. Wally watches eagerly as he spreads his legs and runs his hands along the denim clothing his muscular thighs, right where he wants to be. 

He really is a big dude. Wally can’t help but admire his sheer size and be amazed by it. He wonders where Clark shops, or if he gets his stuff tailor made. Meanwhile, the man is regarding Wally with a serious expression, all molten eyes, achingly masculine and positively dangerous. 

“You’ve been behaving badly, Wally. Your disagreement with Robin. Your foul mouth. I think some form of correction is in order.”

Fuck. Hearing a list of his sins ticked off in that goddamned voice makes Wally swallow feel thick and embarrassingly loud. He was ridiculous thinking Clark needed to pretend to be anyone other than who he really is. He doesn’t need any cheesy roleplay when he has this. 

“Come here.” He shivers, stepping in front of Clark, safely at arm’s length. “Closer.”

Wally’s foamed at the mouth for something like this for as long as he can remember, so he’s got no fucking idea why he’s so nervous now. If he wanted, Superman could intimidate the mother-fucking Batman for Christ’s sake, so he guesses it’s natural to be a little nervous given his situation. But he’s never been afraid of pain, in fact he’s gone out of his way to get his share. 

Maybe it’s because he’s never gotten a real spanking from either of his parents. They never cared about disciplining him, per se, just knocked the crap out of him when he pissed them off, that is if they could be bothered with acknowledging him at all. Those incidents had been violent and unpredictable. This feels like he stepped off the deep end of the pool and found himself in the middle of the fucking Pacific. And somehow it’s still perfectly right.

“Good. Remove your belt and unfasten your jeans.”

If he was one of those head-shrinker types he might come up with some half-assed theories about deep-seated fears of rejection, but he’s not. He’s Wally West, a.k.a. Kid Flash who likes a little pain with his sex (A little? Liar!) And isn’t afraid of his gorgeous, loveable alien boyfriend who’s about to put a beat down on his super-sexy ass. 

Wally can hear the pounding of his heart in his chest, feel the rush of blood flowing into his cock, quivering with its hardness. He can’t take his eyes from the other man as he obeys, tossing his belt aside gently, pulling the zipper down and preparing to take himself out.

“Stop.”

“What? Why?”

“You are not to touch yourself unless I give you permission. Is that clear?” His hands jerk away from his cock like he’s been burned. “Yes, sir.” 

Shit. He’s bossing Wally around like the man OWNS him and every fiber in his body turns into it, desperate with sheer want. No cold feet for this hero!

“I want to see your pants around your hips. Leave them there.”

Wally slowly pushes his jeans and underwear down his hips as instructed, revealing little yellow bats on a black background now resting just under his balls and the curve of his ass. Clark doesn’t say anything about the bats, thank God, just reaches out and glides a single finger along his hipbone and the contour of his lower abdominals. He deftly avoids any contact with his cock, skimming the path of closely shaved coppery hair. 

Clark’s assessment is like an invisible Wartenberg wheel, creating troughs of sensation along his limbs and down his spine, electric points of contact. The man hasn’t removed a stitch of his own clothing, establishing his dominance over Wally with barely a touch. He’s never been so easy. He’s going to come before the first hit, he just knows it.

“Lay yourself over my lap, nice and easy. Yes, like that, Wally. Get comfortable because you’re going to be there a while. You’ve been a very bad boy.”

He shivers hearing himself be called a bad boy by Clark, the feeling so right. His ass is exposed and he feels completely wanton, especially with his cock pressed into Clark’s clothed thigh. He uses his arms as leverage to rub himself there, to push that feeling of friction into something more urgent, but the sensation unexpectedly vanishes just as it was getting good. That glorious thigh pulls away from him and a hand comes down to rest on his back. He goes completely still.

“You’re shameless, Wally. Did you think rubbing yourself on me wouldn’t count as touching yourself?”

“Uh, it was worth a shot?” 

“I’d say that deserves more than just one. Let’s say...five for each offense to start. That means five strikes for arguing with your best friend, five for your use of profanity, and five for disobeying me just now.”

“But I won’t be able to help it,” he whines. 

“You won’t be able to help what?”

“Rubbing myself on you,” he admits a little ashamed, but there’s a thrill in the admission. “I don’t think I can control it.”

“Your lack of self-control is a concern, Wally. We need to address that as well. Five more strikes as a reminder. That’s twenty in all. But this will help you to be good. You want to do as I ask, don’t you, Wally?” For all his insistence they aren’t roleplaying, Clark seems just fine with this display of cool distance and authority. 

“Yes. Anything you want.” Of course, Wally’s his bitch. 

“Then put your hands together behind your back for me.”

Well, that’s just….Oh, yeah, just…Clark’s voice sounded so soft and reverent when he said it and that’s just...guh. His mind sort of speeds to a screeching halt with the implications. Because he’ll be restrained. Not by leather cords, cuffs or ropes, zip ties or electrical tape. Just Clark’s warm, living, unbreakable hold. It’ll be more intimate this way and he won’t be able to rub one out like a bad dog. 

His eyes flutter closed as he reaches back and clasps one hand around the other wrist, pulling his shoulders upward slightly. Clark’s hand easily slips around them both, firmly anchoring them at the center of his back. He relaxes into the hold.

“That feels better now, doesn’t it?”

Clark’s voice is so soothing, like music that calms you down, makes you close your eyes and give in to the sound like it was made just for you. All Wally can do is nod wordlessly. 

“You’ll count each one for me. Every curse that leaves your lips will earn you another strike. Do you understand?”

Hearing his punishment produces a sharp jolt that shoots from his belly through his cock, so good it verges on the edge of pain. He’s already imagining the heavy smacks, literally on the precipice of living out one of his most lurid sexual fantasies with the Man of Steel, so it’s not exactly a surprise when his mind sort of checks out and short circuits. 

“I guess you’re really up Shit Creek.”  
*Smack!*  
“I beg your pardon, what did you say?”  
“I offered to help you... You refused to take our money. Then I said: I guess you're really up Shit Creek!”  
*Smack!*  
“Christ, Jake. Take it easy man.”  
*Smack!*  
“Oh, shit!”  
*Smack!*  
“Jesus Christ!”  
*Smack!*  
“Shit!”  
*Smack!*

“Is something funny, Wally?” Oh, shit. Guess he just laughed out loud. Smooth as always, Wall-man.

Wally’s speed affects his brain as much as his body and sometimes it’s just as difficult to control. His mind is like a dredge on amphetamines, constantly combing through memories and stimuli for relevance. Wally’s brain can spiral out in a half dozen different directions at times, equally capable of retrieving complex solutions as it is complete and utter dog shit. Moronic things like video game references, internet memes, music lyrics and videos, pop culture references, bad jokes and movie flashbacks are just a few examples. Naturally they surface at the absolute worst of times when he’s least able to control his mouth, like when nerves and excitement are involved. Heightened emotions are the equivalent of pouring gasoline on the fire that is Wally West’s inappropriate responses. 

So, laughing out loud at Sister Mary Stigmata smacking the ever-loving shit out of Jake and Elwood in the Blues Brothers movie isn’t altogether unusual, but his timing makes him look like a fucking mental patient. He was in the fucking Zen-sex zone and then...dogshit. He’s a self-sabotaging moron is what he is. 

“No. Sorry. Mind just wandered for a sec.”

“Ready?”

He’s about to reply, and is totally unprepared when he feels it; a resounding crack and jolt forward from the impact of Clark’s hand against his left cheek. 

He did that on purpose before Wally was ready, dammit! That devious, cheeky bastard!

He squirms a bit as the delicious fire of sensation spreads outward, a rush of tingly and pleasurable needles waking up his skin.

“One.” 

The next strike falls on the other cheek, just as nice as the first and this time he is ready for it.

“Two.”

Clark alternates at first, then concentrates on one side at a time, increasing the strength behind each blow until Wally has to spread his legs further for more leverage. It feels like it pushes his ass out more shamelessly, but he wants to show Clark how much he’s enjoying this. 

Clark begins to knead the meat of his ass between hits, soothing and hurting at the same, drawing the pleasure and the pain out like the guy knows what he’s doing. Forget anything he ever said about Clark being some innocent, corn-fed, Midwest doofus. The guy can practically read his fuckin’ mind for what gets him hot, like plucking a nerve that runs straight to his cock.

Wally can feel his precum soaking the front of his pants, can taste the pungent smell of it in Clark’s bedroom. There’s no way in hell Clark isn’t aware of it, too. Suddenly, he’s dying to know if the effect is mutual, if Clark’s jeans are getting sticky with Wally exposed and moaning like bad porn over his knee. He wishes he could turn and rub his face there, run his tongue over the fabric, just like a cat to lap it up. 

He doesn’t want this to stop ever, but the desire to get fucked is becoming more urgent, like an itch he can’t scratch, quickly becoming a torment. By the time he’s past fifteen he’s grunting out each strike, hanging his head low, red hair falling into his eyes. The heat in his behind is a constant flare and he knows how rosy red his pale skin must look by now. 

“Fuck me, Clark. Please.”

He wants to be penetrated, wants to be struck and penetrated at the same time. Wants more than that, but he’s too overwhelmed to articulate anything more.

“You’re not done yet, Wally. And you’ve just earned yourself another punishment.”

He moans like a whore, his next plea shallow and breathy. “Oh, oh, God, please. Yeah, do it. Smack that ass, babe.”

His mouth sort of takes over after that, which always gets him into trouble, only this time it’s the kind that makes his eyes cross. The last six strikes turn into seven, eight and then ten because self-control took a fuckin’ hike several hits back and he can’t stop the steady stream of porn dialog coming from his mouth. The rocking thrusts of Clark’s powerful strikes, the sound of every slap makes him dizzy with arousal. He twists his hips in vain, trying to find something to rub himself against, but Clark’s hold on his wrists is unshakable and reassuring. He can’t do anything without Clark’s express permission. 

Clark might be affected at this point, too. Wally can just hear the change in his breathing over the rapid hummingbird beat of his own heart.

“You’re so gorgeous like this, Wally. I’ve wanted to take you over my knee so many times.”

Oh, Jesus. He whaaat? His boyfriend wanted to give Wally a spanking? “Fuck, Clark. That’s so fuckin’ hot!”

“And you make it so easy with that filthy mouth of yours. Add two more and tell me you want it.” 

The command in his voice is like a jolt to his gut. He moans again until he’s breathless. “I’m so bad. Yeah, I want it. I need it. Give it to me, Clark.”

The hits continue until his brain is buzzing with overstimulation, a mantra of ‘fuckmefuckmefuckme’ repeating over and over in his head. His hips are twisting unconsciously, his whole body pushing into the punishment and reflexively pulling away in turns. The burning sensation is crawling down his flanks and going deeper between his legs, past his perineum, the aftershocks cradling his balls like an invisible touch while his cock bounces untouched. He’s confused by the drops of water falling onto the floorboards. He blinks his eyes, utterly shocked to find they’re wet. 

He’s going to come. He knows it, can hear it in his moans, sounding very far away from him, like they’re coming from someone else. It would scare him, if not for who he was with.

Without warning Clark manhandles Wally off his lap and he’s too stunned to react. His cock is lying straight against his belly, flushed with blood and hard as stone. Clark arranges him on the bed facing up with more force than Wally’s ever experienced, watching mutely as the other man’s broad chest heaves with excitement before opening the front of his jeans and taking his monster cock out. He tears one of Wally’s pant legs off in haste, like he can’t be bothered stripping him completely and folds his body in half until Wally’s knees are by his head. He’s flexible when it counts!

Clark stops for a moment to admire his backside, which feels as though it’s fucking pulsing with heat before positioning himself at Wally’s opening. 

“I didn’t finish counting,” he offers weakly. Clark smiles down at him. “That’s alright, Wally. I think we’re both ready now.”

“Oh.”

One of his massive hands caresses Wally’s throat, its weight alone enough to compress the soft tissue, making it harder for him to swallow. It should be uncomfortable, even scary considering the mammoth that Clark is, but to Wally it’s thrilling and he writhes, unable to rein himself in. He’s panting for it now.

“Wally, my God,” Clark says, the sound of it raspy and a little shaken. The pad of Clark’s thumb rests over Wally’s lips and he automatically darts his tongue out to taste. After a few passes and sucks, Clark leverages Wally’s jaw open, pushing his tongue down. His shocked, open expression is gone. Now there’s just hunger.

His whole body arches like a bow as Clark pushes into him, his body slowly accommodating to his partner’s thick cock. The warm slide splits him open, triggering his orgasm in a ruthless convulsion of pleasure. Wally’s moan stretches into a thin, rapturous wail as he comes, shooting with enough force that several spurts hit his open mouth and tongue. He knew he couldn’t last. It’s a miracle he made it this long.

Clark normally has the stamina of fifty men, something Wally’s enjoyed over long afternoons of fucking, but watching Wally’s eyes roll back as his entire body becomes rigid in the throes of orgasm drives him to release moments after his partner. 

Wally’s vision is just starting to come back as he feels Clark withdraw from his body, shifting on the bed until he looms over his face with his enormous cock pointed at his mouth. He stares down at Wally and hooks his finger over his bottom lip and teeth, once again prying his mouth wide. Wally offers no resistance and lays his tongue flat to catch the last of Clark’s ejaculate, hot and bitter and familiar. Wally watches from below as his lover’s eyes close, his whole body shuddering with the last tremors of pleasure. It’s like gazing up at a mountain caught in the onslaught of earthquake aftershocks.

After the release, Wally stretches forward, gliding his tongue around the cockhead and back down, catching all traces of seed and taking them back into himself, pushing his throat to its limit to sheathe Clark’s cock in one final caress before withdrawing. 

Wally doesn’t really have a solid understanding of love yet, but the intensity staring back at him is the closest thing he’s ever experienced. Any of the fears of making himself vulnerable in admitting his secret desire to be spanked has all ebbed away, leaving him feeling drained but incredibly satisfied and surprisingly whole. 

The affection and reverence between them quickly turn to smiles and laughter. Clark scoops him into his embrace for a nice post-fuck cuddle as they continue to laugh from the endorphin release. Clark still insists he giggles. Right now he feels so good he couldn’t care less what he sounds like. 

His fingers are gently raking through Wally’s hair when he rumbles, “Are you alright?” 

It’s a legitimate question. He flexes his glutes and feels a deep ache underlying the heated, stinging surface of soft skin. Even with his hyper-accelerated healing he’s going to be feeling this for a while. 

“Well, I won’t be able to sit normally for a few days, but I’m okay with that.” 

The super-spanking is totally worth it. And considering Clark’s ridiculous strength, it’s pretty amazing how accurately he was able to gauge each strike; enough for a Metahuman like Wally to really feel it and give him a good sting, but no real damage. No ligature marks, no cuts or bruises, just a warm throbbing from his backside. And he’s okay with it. More than okay with it. 

“Did you...ya know...enjoy it?” Wally hates that his voice sounds so nervous and small, but he worries Clark was only indulging him and his perverted sexual tendencies and maybe he’ll find the whole thing too weird. Maybe he’ll think Wally’s too weird. Clark pulls back enough to look him in the eyes. 

“Of course I enjoyed it. I would have been honest with you if I was uncomfortable.”

Feeling much more at ease, Wally settles back into the warm place between Clark’s arm and his chest, playfully running his fingers over those massive pecs and already thinking about their next go around.

“And besides, you know how much I love that cute behind of yours. Giving you a good spanking was more exciting than I’d imagined.”

“Really?” He’s shit at keeping the surprised excitement out of his voice. 

“Did you notice I couldn’t even manage to get your pants off properly?” Wally looks down his body, just noticing the single pant leg twisted around his knee. He’s pretty sure the seams are torn to shit and there’s no salvaging them. 

“Yeah, there’s that.”

“Or how quickly our lovemaking ended?

It still cracks up his shit that Clark calls what they do ‘lovemaking’. He’ll never admit it, not even if Captain Cold had his stupid freeze gun pointed at his face, but he really sort of loves it. 

“Huh. Just make sure my ass is the only one getting the super-discipline, Superbeast. I don’t wanna see those Metropolis thugs getting spanked for their misdemeanors. That’s my action.”

“It’s safe to say that you are the only one I will ever be taking over my knee, Wally, and happily so.”

“Damn right I am.”

They lie there for several minutes together. Wally’s eyes are closed, half-dozing and basking in the furnace of heat that Clark’s body puts off. All that warmth is wrapped up in his scent and Wally burrows into it happily. He feels amazing and so perfect right now.

“Wally, can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, anything, babe.”

“You never talk about your parents. Why is that?”

Wally always knew there was a reason he hated pillow talk. He tries not to tense up at the question, but it’s so unexpected he’s sure he’s failing miserably. Clark notices shit other people can’t without even trying, things like heart rate and breathing, so there’s no use in trying to hide it this close to the man. 

“Dunno. They’re just busy, I guess. Work and everything.” It’s a major effort to keep his voice even, but he does his best, anyway. “I’m at school or with the team or Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris most of the time, so I just don’t see them much. That’s all. It’s no big deal.”

“I see.”

‘LIAR! He knows you’re lying.’

“I talk about Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris all the time.” 

“Yes, you do and I know they’re wonderful people and that you love them very much. But I’ve talked about growing up with my parents and you’ve never even mentioned yours. I just thought that was...a little unusual.”

Wally doesn’t tell him that if he says anything relating to his mom or dad it will open the flood gates; everything will come pouring out of him like that night outside the club he lost it in front of Clark. Once he goes there he won’t be able to stop and he’s not ready to do that. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Wally, I’m not going to pressure you into talking about something that you’re clearly not ready to discuss. I just want you to know that I’m here to listen anytime you want to. I love you so much, kid.”

Hearing Clark say he loves him makes his heart soar. Yeah, sounds sickening, but whatever, it’s true. But Clark isn’t stupid. A sexually promiscuous teenaged boy who likes rough sex and never discusses his family life? Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out something’s wrong close to home. Wally’s never been in a relationship where the other person cared about him, or his issues, so he didn’t give it much thought. But his boyfriend obviously has and made his own assumptions about his young lover. There’s a tiny part of him that wants to share that torn, hurt part of himself with Clark that trusts him enough with it. But c’mon, what a drag would that be?

‘Whaa! Whaaa! My mommy doesn’t love me! I cut myself to feel better. Whaa! Whaa!’

He doesn’t think unloading all his shit on Clark sounds too sexy. He’d probably get turned off by the whole thing, and Wally wouldn’t blame him. Adults don’t need teen dramas when they have have bigger problems to deal with. The relationship is too new. That’s all. 

Maybe Wally can talk about it with him once they’ve been together a while, when he’s sure it’ll be okay. He knows Clark loves him, but that’s because he doesn’t know what a fuck up Wally really is. He can almost envision Clark’s disgusted face if he knew. His throat feels choked off, too thick to manage any kind of reply, but eventually he does.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it, Clark. I can’t right now.” He practically mumbles the words out without lifting his face from Clark’s chest, but he gets forced out of his bubble when Clark nudges Wally’s chin up so their eyes meet.

“That’s okay, Wally, but I’m here if you ever need to. I want you to when you’re ready.”

He breathes out a shaky sigh of relief. He feels so pressured with Robin breathing down his neck lately. The idea of Clark putting the screws to him to talk about his parents made him physically ill. “Thanks, Clark,” he says, surprised to feel a smile break out on his face as a reaction from the kind way Clark is looking at him. 

Suddenly, he just knows that he’s going to tell Clark about his home life. He even wants to. But now’s not the right time. He can trust Clark with his heart, but his issues are a really big thing to ask. Because talking about his parents and their treatment of him is a direct line to his risky sexual behaviors and the cutting. Wally’s been keeping those things a secret for so long he’s not sure he knows how to let them go. They’re a part of him now, truths burned into his skin that only he can see.

Clark was upset when he learned Wally let others hurt him. How would he react if he knew Wally deliberately mutilated himself? A little spanking doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface. 

Wally’s never kidded himself about the facts. He’s fucked up and he knows it. The thing is, his relationship with Clark has taken away a lot of his need for hurting himself. He doesn’t feel that desperate, urgent thing clawing at him from the inside to be released. He feels more content than he’s ever known being with Clark. That ugliness inside him isn’t gone, but Clark soothes some of his hurt away, enough to make him believe he can conquer it someday.

It would be nice to trust someone with his problems, to take a little of the weight off his shoulders. He’s so tired of putting on another face for everyone else. 

There’ll be plenty of time to talk about it later on. Yeah, he’s procrastinating, he knows, but he’s managed all this time without cracking. He can manage on his own for a little longer. For now, Wally simply closes his eyes for a quick catnap before round two.


End file.
